What makes you feel alive?
Lusting after someone. So badly your center aches, your eyesight is blurry and your morals are thrown out the window.
MY SISTER WASN’T DRINKING.
That was the only thing that occupied my mind. Not the fact that we had a kick-ass time. Not the amazing Britney Spears show. Not the distorted, tall, radioactive-looking alcoholic drinks we carried with us all day. But the fact that Millie did not consume a drop of them, or any other type of alcohol.
We had French roots. For us, partying without wine or champagne was like dancing without limbs.
Glaring at her from the corner of a loud, crowded nightclub with neon lights and sweaty, half-naked bodies, I sucked on my straw, inhaling another cocktail.
“Your sister is sooo knocked up.” Elle popped her big, pink gum while checking herself in the reflection of a shimmering piece of hale-shaped mirrors draping from the ceiling. We were all wearing the same type of dress—pink, Emilia’s favorite color—with sweetheart neckline and ruffled layers of thin, soft-fabric. I found one at a thrift shop. It screamed Millie to the sky and back, so I purchased it, contacted the brand, and ordered four more for all of us.
“She’s not,” I insisted, but it was futile. Even I didn’t believe myself. “I’m the closest person to her. She’d never hide it from me.”
“She’s not drinking, looks like crap, and she ate a cupcake with fried pickles on top for lunch. I rest my case, but if you need me to make her pee on a stick, I know a guy who makes things happen.” Elle leaned on the wall beside me.
I glared at my sister. Millie shook her ass with Gladys and Sydney on the dance floor, flipping her sweaty hair back and forth and mouthing the words to “The Thong Song” by Sisqó. Maybe the DJ had lost a bet that night. No one knows. But I was in no mood to be a music snob.
Elle patted my shoulder. “There, there. You have a good buzz going on, and you don’t want to venture into plastered territory. Put down the drink. Let’s dance a little.”
She pulled my hand, and I didn’t protest, because what was the point?
Elle and I joined Millie, Gladys, and Sydney, and we danced for an hour or so. Millie said we needed to take a taco break, and since no one had ever said ‘no’ to taco, we all grabbed a table at the restaurant section of the club and stuffed our faces.
I excused myself to the bathroom, and when I came back, saw Gladys leaning down in the booth we were seated in, running her hand over Millie’s stomach. Sydney threw her head back, laughed, and motioned with her hands, making the illusion of huge tits.
My sister was pregnant.
Her friends knew it.
My parents knew it.
Everyone knew it.
Everyone…but me.
Dean
What’s your fascination with music, anyway?
My fingers shook with anger, but that wasn’t the only reason why I didn’t answer him. My gaze wandered to Millie’s face, and I pursed my lips. The rest of the girls had gone back to the dance floor, and it was just my sister and me. I asked her if there was anything she wanted to share, once more. She said another taco and laughed. The pit of my stomach twisted, then sizzled with rage. She was a liar, like all of them. There was really no difference between her and Daddy. Well, there was. Daddy, at least, stopped the charade and told me exactly what he thought about me. Millie was still a coward who wanted to protect my precious feelings by lying to me.
Fuck it.
I needed Dean.
Dean made things go away. He was weed. He was alcohol. He was music. Only a thousand times more addictive than all of the above.
Rosie
Listening to good music is like a drug. It releases hormones that make you feel happy. What’s your fascination with astronomy?
Dean
There were times in my life, dark times when I had to spend my summers in a place I didn’t want to be. The nights were long and boring, so I went out and laid down on the hay. The stars were the only things to keep me company, and I guess I got a little attached to them. They reminded me that under the sky, there were better things waiting for me. The people I loved, the places I wanted to visit, all the girls I was going to fuck…
Rosie
A hopeless romantic. I’m getting chills. Stop it.
Dean
You’ll be getting more chills in a second. Turn around.
Rosie
?
Dean
Simple English, Baby LB. Turn around.
He was there.
My heart jumped to my throat, but at the same time, hot lava melted in my lower belly, washing over the hurt and pain, creating an urgent need I was desperate to take care of. It was completely possible that this man was becoming more and more attractive with every passing second. I watched him in a navy blue crisp shirt and gray dress pants, ambling toward me like a force that was about to rip roofs and panties in its wake.
I was so focused on Dean, I hadn’t even noticed the girls were back at the table and the guys were there, too. Sans Trent, obviously.
Vicious took his place by Emilia. Jaime sat sandwiched between Sydney and Gladys, offering them a curt nod, and Dean remained standing, staring at me without even hiding what was in his eyes. Shameless.
“I’ll get you all some drinks.” I shot up from my seat, but I wasn’t feeling it anymore. That goody-two-shoes act. It wasn’t me. I wasn’t good and I wasn’t nice, and tonight, I was going to fuck my sister’s ex-boyfriend. An angry fuck that would erase the last few days from my memory, even if for a moment or two.
As I passed Dean, he bumped his arm against my shoulder. Every hair on my body stood on end, goosebumps prickling my skin.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I want?” he hissed into my face, licking his full bottom lip, making it shiny, a forbidden glossy apple.
“I don’t care what you want, Dean. You’re getting water. As I said, you can self-destruct all you want, but not under my shift.”
“Point made. Let it be known, though, that you can do whatever you want on my shaft.”
“No drinking or smoking,” I repeated solemnly, giving him the stink eye.
I could hear the smile in his words as he said, “You fucking care,” watching my back as I scurried along.
Yes, I do, I thought, bitterly. Wishing I hadn’t. I really do.
Things were about to get messy.
Ruckus was going to live up to his name.
Ten Years Ago
School was over. So were Millie and I.
Jaime moved to Texas for college, taking a souvenir from home along with him—our lit teacher, Melody Greene. Trent had surgery on his leg and was bedbound for the rest of the summer. And Vicious…Vicious went fucking nuts, as if he was the one she had abandoned.
After Millie ran away, Rosie seemed to have been pissed off with the world. I wanted to be her punching bag. She wouldn’t let me.
There were other things I wanted, but it wasn’t the appropriate time to go after them. So I settled for being there for her, one fucked-up soul for another.
I wasn’t particularly mad at my ex-girlfriend for ditching my ass. As far as I knew, she left me for someone else. That should’ve made me go ballistic, but for the life of me, I couldn’t find that fucking frenzy Vicious was simmering with.
Rosie said I should stop coming to check in on her, but that was like telling me I couldn’t touch my dick. Entirely fucking impossible.
I came for her every day.
We would sit outside by the pool in complete silence.
I wanted to talk to her about the stars, but I didn’t.
I wanted to talk to her about our futures, but I didn’t.
I wanted to talk to her about us, but there was no us, and her creep-o-meter was probably dinging like mad with me coming for her every afternoon.
One day, I saw Vicious walking past his manicured lawn while I made my way across the stone path to the servants’ house. He stopped and stared at me, blinking like he’d just seen a ghost.
Approaching me in slow steps, he tucked his hands in his pockets, assessing me through cold, vigilant eyes, preparing for battle. I puffed my chest, fixing my fake smile on. He wanted war? He was going to get one.
“You really think you stand a chance with the mouthy one after what happened with Millie?” he gritted, unable to let the word fuck, a word he used so fucking much, leave his mouth. Because he knew. Vicious knew that I took Millie’s virginity—she asked me to. I had a feeling that it was more about getting rid of her V-card than it was about me—and this was the one thing he could never erase from the pages of history. Not even Baron Spencer could tamper with reality.
I scrubbed my chin. “I know my chances with Baby LeBlanc are about as fat as your chances with Millie. I’m here to make sure she’s okay. It’s a foreign concept to you, but sometimes people just want to be nice to other people. What crawled up your ass, anyway? You look…guilty.” I furrowed my brows. Everything about my stance was ready to pounce and rip him to shreds.
“Guilty?” He laughed, but it wasn’t his usual laughter. The looming, self-assured one. So the bastard did know something. Fuck if I had a clue what it was. “Now why would I feel guilty? You were the one who went after my girl.”
“Your girl,” I repeated, letting an incredulous chuckle escape. It felt oddly liberating to address the elephant in the room. The same elephant that had managed to crush and ruin every single fucking thing in our lives during senior year. “Hey, asshat, newsflash: Emilia LeBlanc was everyone’s favorite moving target until I slapped my name on her ass. I had a suspicion that you liked her, yeah. I had a feeling it was even something more, but from the outside?” I took a step toward him, and we were dangerously close to fucking up each other’s faces and rolling on the grass until one of us was bleeding to death. “You ruined her life. All you said was that she was a white-trash hillbilly. All you did was make her feel unwelcome. Did I want to tap it? Yeah.” I shrugged. “I’m a teenager with a working dick. But, more than anything, I wanted to make sure she wouldn’t hang herself on your account.”
“How noble of you.” His chest bumped against mine, and we were going to war, now I knew. “Poor fucking Ruckus.” Vicious brought his fists to his eyes and pretended to wipe invisible tears. “Had a bad time with Emilia all those months?”
“Nah,” I said, pushing him away. He pushed me back. I grinned. “She was great, but then, you’d never know, right?” He swallowed hard.
“Maybe she ran off because you’re shit in bed,” he said. Real mature.
“Or maybe she ran off because she was tired of you,” I retorted. His face twisted in pain, and he was guilty. Of what, I didn’t know, but he was not innocent. That much was for sure. I decided to poke the subject. Get his angle on things.
“How does it feel, Vicious? To be the loser who would never know what the girl of his dream tastes like?”
“You would know, Cole. We’re in the same boat, and this ship is sinking.” Now it was his turn to get in my face and—again—I didn’t even blink. I wasn’t afraid of Vicious. I saw through his layers and knew exactly who he was.
A guy like me.
Who was hiding behind walls of muscle, good looks, fancy cars, perfect clothes, rich parents, and dark mystery. You can never be afraid of what you are. That was why I was the only one out of my friends to defy him repeatedly.
“You fucked up everything,” I whispered into his face, and I saw it in his ink-blue eyes that he knew I was right, because there was something whirling in them. Something that threatened to drown whoever dared to come close. “You fucked up, and now we’re all fucked.” I pushed him, turning around and stalking to Rosie’s door.
By the time she opened the door, Vicious was gone. Probably up in his room, smoking a fat one.
Rosie didn’t look surprised to see me. But she did gasp when I cupped both her cheeks, stepped into her house, and kissed the shit out of her without warning.
The kiss wasn’t just rough; it was downright brutal. It lacked affection in the same way it leaked desperation.
I was helpless.
Careless.
Ruined.
And not by the sister I was expected to love.
She gasped for air. I gasped for her. Our tongues swirled together, engaged, enamored, under a spell of black magic.
I held her by the back of her neck. Maybe too hard. How did I not know my body could respond to another person like this? Every nerve ending in my body was on fire. Her knees failed. She collapsed, but held onto my shirt at the very last minute, somehow holding herself together physically. Mentally, though…we were both in too deep.
Mentally, we were fucked.
It hadn’t even registered to me that she returned the kiss for a long, intoxicating minute before she pulled away, her eyes widening in shock and fear. She laced her fingers through the sides of her head and pulled at her roots, her beautiful, puffy lips falling open.
“Oh, my God.” She sucked in a breath. I felt her in that kiss, and the things she’d given me…she could never take them back. They were mine, and I was going to take the rest of her, even if it wasn’t that day. Even if it would take a fucking lifetime.
If she has a lifetime, asshole.
“Holy shit,” she croaked again. “What have I done? Get out!”
“Rosie…”
“Get. The. Hell. Out, Dean. Seriously, if you come here again…”
“You bet your ass I am,” I said firmly. “I’m going after you even if it takes me years to have you.”
“You won’t.” There was something in her voice, or maybe it was the way she pushed me away, that made it all very final. “I will make sure of it, one way or the other. You’re dead to me, Cole. Dead from the moment you put your hands on my sister. There won’t be a tomorrow for us. There won’t be a Bronze Horseman. And next time we see each other, Dean, we’re going to act like we don’t know one another. Because we don’t. You are nothing to me. Never were. Come here again, and I’m telling Daddy to pull out the shotgun.”
She slammed the door in my face.
And for the first time, she didn’t peek through the window to steal another moment with me.
Present
I loved watching Rosie dance.
She was so terrible at it, you couldn’t help but laugh. But she didn’t care. The girl didn’t fucking care, and that was what I loved about her the most. Her ability to sing out of tune and dance like no one was watching, when all eyes were on her as she struck a pose, a la Madonna, while jumping up and down like her feet were on fire.
She spun in place on the dance floor and found me, our eyes connecting. I was leaning against the bar, sipping bottled water, as promised, saluting the bottle in her direction.
Vicious was grinding against Emilia.
Jaime was outside on the phone with Trent.
Sydney, Gladys, and that chick who worked with Rosie were dancing with each other.
And again, she and I were left to our own devices.
Nina had been calling and texting nonstop, despite my ignoring her, and Trent was going through hell, but somehow, I still felt that natural high that slammed into me every time I hung out with Baby LeBlanc.
Rosie looked down to her phone and stabbed her thumbs on the screen, typing a text message. It threw my heart into fourth gear, and I clutched my phone beside my body, waiting for the ping that felt like a bang.
Rosie
I think I’m going to take someone to my hotel room tonight. Had a rough day and need to unwind.
Dean
Is that an invitation?
Rosie
More like a jab. You know what the hardest part was when you and Millie were together? Hearing you make out. It used to kill me. That’s why at some point I stopped being home when you were around.
My head shot up, and there she was, swaying her hips, a random guy hugging her waist from behind and grinning into her neck as he matched her tempo. Her eyes were on me, and she had that expression. The ‘what-the-fuck-are-you-going-to-do-about-it-huh?’ look. I was going to wipe it off of her face.
Here I was, watching someone else touching her, every inch of my body raw with violent rage. The one I hadn’t felt all those years ago when Millie left. Oh, it was inside me, all right. It was just waiting to be ignited by someone else entirely.
I’m going to end this shithead.
I looked down and typed.
Dean
Don’t test me, LeBlanc. We’re not teenagers anymore. Our actions have consequences.
Rosie
And…?
Dean
And with the actions I have in mind, I’m looking at ten to fifteen years in a cage. Cut that shit before he gets hurt.
I felt my pulse in my eyelids. My spine. My fucking balls. It was everywhere, because my heart was jackhammering like it wanted to jump out of my ribcage and into her hands. It felt like snorting two lines of brown-brown, the gunpowder rushing through my system.
For the first time in a very long time, I cared.
Breaking them up and causing a scene crossed my mind, but I wasn’t that person. I was the chilled, asshole motherfucker who smiled at the world, even when it threw shit at him. And Rosie threw shit at me because I deserved it. Because I did kiss her sister when she was in the same house. Because I didn’t stop it from happening. Because it was payback, and she wanted to take it far. I was going to let her explore the distance, even if it hurt me—but the line was going to be drawn at kissing. She was fucking mine. He could look, but hell if he tried to touch.
The guy spun Rosie around and they danced together, but she kept an appropriate gap from him, probably knowing he wasn’t going to appreciate a trip to the ER. Dude was okay-looking, I suppose. Mid-height and young—about Rosie’s age, casually dressed. Nothing to write home about.
He yelled something into her ear over the music, and I felt my nostrils widening like a mad bull. She motioned for him with her fingers to wait a minute, looked down, and typed a message.
Rosie
How does it feel?
It felt like death. But that fire in her eyes looked fresh. Too fresh to only be about me. There were other things occupying Rosie’s mind. Family-related things. I knew that, and this time…this time I was going to be the punching bag. Fuck, how I wanted to feel her little fists all over my body.
Dean
Point made. Now stop it.
She didn’t answer.
And she didn’t fucking stop it.
My eyes traveled up and the fuckwit took her hand, leading her to the back door of the club. I looked around. All of our friends were still busy dancing, drinking, and generally not giving two shits. My plan to corner Rosie backfired in my face in spectacular fashion.
Because Rosie wasn’t Millie. Rosie couldn’t be cornered.
Rosie was never the prey. She was, at times, the motherfucking hunter.
I used every ounce of self-control in my body to stop myself from running after them. No, I sauntered. Cool. Unnerved, pushing bodies, and stepping on feet on my way to the door that led out to an alleyway at the back of the club. I moved past darkness, through saturated lights. Yellow, green, red, and purple twirling together. They probably looked beautiful if you were drunk, but I wasn’t. And when I finally poured myself out into the static, hot air of Las Vegas, I stilled.
Her back was pressed against an exposed brick wall and he was hovering next to her, his lips inches from tasting what belonged to me.
“Back. The. Fuck. Up,” I hissed, ambling in their direction. They twisted their heads, and I think Rosie saw the smoke coming out of my ears, because she took a visible gulp and placed her palms on his chest as a barrier.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was hoarse. “He’s a jealous ex. Not my ex, but he didn’t get the memo yet.”
Evidently, Mr. Prop here didn’t want to be the one to give it to me. The guy looked like he peed his pants, and I had to remind myself that he was just a means to an end for her. Poor bastard.
“I’ll take it from here.” I slapped the guy on the shoulder a little too hard. He looked between us, his mouth falling open. He wanted to know that it was okay to leave her with me, but at the same time, hoped that it was, because I still looked every inch of a quarterback monster who only answered to the words ‘God’ and ‘Daddy’.
Rosie nodded, clearing her throat. “Sorry, Adam. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
“Planning to,” Adam said, turning around and walking away, his steps becoming faster as he approached the door.
I pinned Rosie to the wall, this time not giving a damn about her stupid-ass rules, and grinded my body slowly against hers. I had a throbbing erection, and it pressed against her navel, demanding her attention. She arched her back and got on her tiptoes, chasing our touch, her mouth asking for mine.
“Adam?” I quirked a brow, pulling my face away. Two were going to play this game, at least until she realized there was no game. This was real.
“Nice dude.” She still stared at my lips, her breaths labored, and not from her stupid illness.
I boxed her with my arms, my lips hovering over her shoulder.
“I’m glad you think so, because he just cost you an orgasm.”
She moaned, dragging her teeth over her lower lip when my hand slipped inside her panties and grazed her wet slit.
“I need a distraction tonight.” She jerked me closer. “I need your help.”
I thrust two fingers into her and started pumping in and out. She gasped, her fingers lacing my hair, but I didn’t let her wrap her legs around me. No. Fuck that. She had no clue, this girl. No. Fucking. Clue. Who she was dealing with. I might’ve been nicer than Vicious, but I was still a HotHole. I was still a sinner…and I was still the wolf her grandmamma warned her about.
“Yes,” she panted. “Right there.”
I slid another finger until I fucked her with my entire hand, grinding my body against her to create the friction she throbbed for against her clit. She started shaking, losing balance. Her knees were giving in, and if she thought I was going to catch her, she was sorely mistaken.
“Look at the stars,” I growled.
She gave no fucks about the stars, chasing my mouth again. I didn’t kiss her. She didn’t deserve to be kissed. I wanted her to come to me—not under the haze of a looming orgasm—press her lips against mine, and say it.
I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. I will never be anyone else’s.
“You better fucking do it, Baby LeBlanc. I don’t like repeating myself.”
Rolling her eyes, she complied. We both looked up. The sky was full of stars against all odds. You couldn’t really see shit from The Strip, but that night, you could. You could because she was there.
Her thighs clenched around my waist and so did her pussy against my fingers. I pulled out, my eyes dead, my lips pursed, staring at her like she was nothing more than a business transaction. A mere inconvenience I bumped into during my day.
“What the hell are you doing?” Her mouth dropped like a stone, and I almost laughed when her groin pressed against my stomach, begging for me to finish the job. I pressed my lips to her ear.
“Consequences, Rosie. Get used to them. I’m not letting you off like the rest of your family. Next time you let some random douche put his hands on this,” I clutched her hips and drove them into my throbbing cock, “you better believe there will be penalties. I’m letting you off the hook this time, because you’re a newbie, but just so you know—it is happening, it is mine, and you are welcome. Lesson learned.”
That night, Rosie snuck into my suite.
It wasn’t really a Marine Corps operation. The girls were plastered from drinking all day, and Millie—who was apparently sober for a reason beyond my grasp—dozed off in the club, fuck-tired. Rosie was straddling the line between tipsy and sober, but nowhere near the state she was in back when we hooked up in Todos Santos. And lookie here, she still wanted The Dean’s D. Big fucking surprise. I wondered for how much longer she was going to downplay us before she realized that we are diving down a rabbit hole headfirst and it was so deep there was no climbing back up. The very same one I tried to push her into when we were teenagers.
Vicious and Jaime were downstairs, hitting the blackjack tables.
I heard the soft knock on the door and opened it. She stood on the threshold, still clad in that pink dress that made all the other girls at the bachelorette party look like human-sized vaginas but somehow made her look like a princess, and my heart did a wild thing in my chest.
And it was funny how people always said that I was trouble, when trouble looked like a tiny, blue-eyed girl in a huge pink dress and brownish-orange freckles.
Rosie looked pissed.
Her pixie ears were pink, her mouth was twisted into a sneer, and her foot was tapping that red carpet like she was trying to stomp it to death. It’d been like this for days now, and it rubbed me the wrong way. Rosie wasn’t herself in Todos Santos, or in Vegas. She wasn’t self-assured, fun, and sassy. She was angry, annoyed, and desperate. I had a feeling it had a lot to do with her family, and now I knew that she didn’t want to accept my plane ticket not only because of the money, but also because of how this place made her feel.
“You need a cold shower to get some fucking chill.” I gave her my unsolicited advice.
“I need a hot fling to make me forget,” she disagreed, pushing me into the room and walking in. I let her take the lead, giving her the false-assumption she was under some sort of control—and followed her, watching her round ass in that dress.
“Hop into the shower, Sirius.”
“I don’t think so, Planet Earth.”
If a smile could split your face in two, I’d have headed straight to the hospital at that second. “Planet Earth?” I clucked my tongue. “Color me curious and horny.”
She whipped her head around, her chin resting on her shoulder.
“You are chaotic, crazy, and full of wars and angst. But you’re the liveliest place I’ve ever been to.”
Fuck. I was going to put a ring on her finger, and it was probably going to weigh as much as she did, if not more. It wasn’t just this whole, crazy week talking. She was humoring me. Every part of me. Even the dark shit no one wanted anything to do with.
“In the shower,” I repeated, my voice solemn, walking over and swatting her ass. Nothing too bad. Yet. “For every minute you keep me waiting, I’ll deny you another orgasm.”
Girl practically jogged her way there, breaking some cystic fibrosis-related records, I’m sure.
She stripped out of her dress, shoes, and panties. Baby blue, lace and satin, and I was tempted to shove them into my pocket, but I reminded myself that if I was going to have my way, Rosie would soon have her whole fucking wardrobe in my closet and I wouldn’t need it. Still, I would probably take a few of her panties with me to work. Just to get me through the day.
I turned on the faucet—the water was ice-cold—and nodded for her to get in while I was still fully dressed. She eyed me suspiciously, and even though she was completely naked, she didn’t try to hide her body. Not that she had a reason to. Rosie LeBlanc was a piece of art if I ever saw one.
“I’m sick,” she said.
“You’re going to be fine,” I assured. I wasn’t a fucking doctor, but I loved guiding her out of her comfort zone—enjoyed her reaction when she realized that for me, she wasn’t a wilting flower. She was a strong tree with a great trunk. Pun intended, obviously.
“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“Will you join me?”
“If you ask nicely.”
She chuckled, folding her arms over her bare chest. It was the first time I saw her tits, but it took me a few seconds to realize it, because in my mind, she was always naked. Funny how the human brain works.
“Please, will you join me in the shower?” she asked through an eye roll.
“I’m sorry, is that your version of nice?” I unzipped my dress pants and took out my cock. I was completely hard, my dick jerking in my hand, its head pointing at her angrily. Her eyes widened as she took a good look at it for the very first time.
Watching her reaction closely, drinking every single movement she’d made, every blink, every twitch, I waited. She took a second to regroup before she ate the space between us, and a glimpse of that Rosie from New York shone through the girl standing in front of me. When we were flush against each other, she took hold of my cock and stared me in the eye, defying me. The water was still running in the background.
“Ask nicely,” I repeated. “And I’ll join you. Ask nicer—and I will even turn the hot water on.”
She dropped to her knees, dug her fingers into the back of my thigh, and wrapped her other hand around my shaft. Her hand was tiny, and my cock was big, so her fingers didn’t even touch as she held me. And yes, of course, it was a turn-on. She swirled the tip of her tongue around my head unhurriedly—it looked as heated as she had felt—before taking some of me in, licking me like I was a fucking lollipop. I loved her version of sucking cock. It was so different than my usual one-night stands, who Hoovered the fuck out of my dick like they were trying to pull it off of my body. No. Rosie teased me. Enjoyed me. She licked until I held her hair to keep her head in place and started driving into her mouth, fucking it as I groaned.
I was going to come, and this was out of the fucking question. Not like this. Not right then.
“Fuck, baby,” I said, picking her up to her feet and backing her into the shower. I caged her into the golden tiles, turning on the hot water. The water lashed at us. It was angry, too. I was still wearing my shoes, dress pants, and shirt, but I didn’t give a damn. My mouth closed in on hers, and we both collided and exploded like two lonely stars somewhere in the dark atmosphere.
“Was that nice enough?” She was still fighting a cough from when I buried my dick inside her mouth. The sound of her gurgling alone was liable to tip me off the edge and make me shoot my load.
“No. Not nice. Perfect. Like you.”
I lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around my waist. I drove into her so hard and unexpectedly, she cried out and not from pleasure.
I fucked her frantically, knowing that the water was still not hot enough and that I needed to keep her warm. She screamed and clutched me, and we both wobbled backwards from the impact, me still holding her by the ass. I laid her on the floor and pinned her arms above her head, holding her by her wrists.
“What the fuck is eating at you, Rosie? Why are you sad?” I demanded as I pounded into her so desperately, I felt her thighs moving away from me. Like the friction was too much. Rosie was going to feel me, all of me, long after tonight.
“Shh.” She pressed her lips to mine, sucking off the water drops from my lower lip and releasing it with a pop. “Please just let me have tonight.”
I fucked her until there was nothing left of her to fuck, until she was a ragdoll, limp and boneless and content after two violent orgasms that made her spasm under me like she’d been electrocuted.
Then I came inside her, and that was when it hit me. That was when I finally remembered that I didn’t bother to put on a fucking condom.
Fuck. Just…fuck!
I was sure she felt it. The warm, thick cum spilling into her as I found my release, but she didn’t say a thing. Even when it trickled down her thigh, and there was no mistaking it from the water running from the multiple showerheads. She didn’t acknowledge it. No. Rosie continued to stare at me through heavy-lidded eyes.
“Shit.” My forehead dropped to her lips, and I shook my head, our hair plastered to our skins. “I’m so sorry. Fuck. Sorry. Baby. I didn’t…I swear I’m clean.”
She ran her fingers through my wet hair.
“It’s okay.” Her tone held no color or emotion. She didn’t sound worried or pissed. She didn’t sound anything. “I’m clean, too.”
“I’ll go down and get you one of those morning-after pills,” I muttered, hating that we went from this to that. From pure, bare lust and healthy anger to talking about how we were going to prevent an unwanted pregnancy and potential STDs. I was trying to avert what I was sure was a shitstorm brewing inside her brain. Chicks were sensitive about this kind of stuff, Nina proved me as much, and fuck, I had gone and done the same mistake with Rosie.
“I’m okay, Dean, really.”
She put her hands on my chest and pushed me away, stood up, and started collecting her dress and shoes as I lay there, the water still hitting me like needles.
Fuck.